


Bury the Dead Alive

by glacis



Category: X Files
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek thinks he's dead.  Mulder thinks he should be.  Scully's not so sure.  In the end, romance triumphs (sort of...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury the Dead Alive

Bury the Dead Alive, by Glacis. Rated NC17, no infringement intended.

XMKX

He was in hell.

That was the only possible explanation. No other explanation could cover how he had somehow transported from a men's room in the Hong Kong airport to a godforsaken hole with a hulk of barnacled metal for his only company. And nothing else would account for the nightmare of kneeling on top that hulk, puking some sort of oil and feeling like his body was being turned inside out without benefit of anesthesia. His eyes felt like they were on fire, and he was covered in an oily residue that made his skin crawl. And no one was listening to his screams.

A corner of his mind knew that he was alive. He wouldn't hurt this badly if he was dead. He was so hungry his stomach was tied in knots, and his throat was parched from lack of water and screaming. Sometime during the night his bladder had released, and he could barely stand his own stench. His watch was broken, and he had no idea how long he had been there. The light never varied. Nothing ever moved. There was no noise. No sound, except the voices in his own mind.

They were getting louder. And they were drowning out the little corner of his mind that knew he was alive.

XMKX

Fox Mulder stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His expression was completely blank, but his eyes were alive with emotions he normally kept tightly contained. He slammed the handle down on the faucet and nearly threw his toothbrush into the holder. This case, if he could classify it as such, was bringing up a lot of dirty linen he usually hid in the more remote parts of his psyche.

He made his way through the darkened apartment to throw himself moodily on the couch. Alex Krycek had been his partner for a very short time, but it had been a busy period. He had betrayed him, spied on him, given Scully to the bastards who would use her as a guinea pig and do God only knew what to her. Even after the gig was up and he knew that the little rat bastard worked for The Cancerman, he had not been free of him. Krycek had poisoned his water, beat up his boss, killed his partner's sister and murdered his father. He should hate him. He did hate him. He had to hate him.

He threw his head back against the softness of the cushions and remembered other things. The fire in Krycek's eyes when he told him that he admired him. The gentleness in his voice as he handed him coffee the morning after Scully's disappearance. The way he had looked at him when he climbed out of the Bureau pool and handed him a towel. His big, dark, puppy eyes and his eager enthusiasm. It had all been a front. All of it, a lie.

It was just a little harder to convince his body than his mind. The way he had looked in those tight jeans and that leather jacket, thrown against that bank of phones in the airport, played again in front of unseeing eyes. The way it had felt to hold him down with his own body, so close, belly to belly, Krycek's thigh wrapped around his hip...

A heavy sigh escaped him as his right hand trailed slowly down his chest to rest in his lap. As the images flowed past in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, his fingers slipped under the waistband of his shorts and curled around his cock, already hard, already beginning to leak from the force of his thoughts. For just a short while, Krycek had managed to slip under some of his iron defenses. He had almost believed. His hand moved faster, harder, his palm pressing into the straining flesh, fingertips catching the moisture from the head and spreading it over his heat, using it to speed his strokes. His left hand joined his right, squeezing the sensitive head, rubbing hard circles in counterpoint to the pulling of his right. In very little time, his hips were thrusting off the worn cushions, jerking in time to his harsh panting, and he threw his head back and cried aloud as he came, semen splattering against the material of his waistband, a contained explosion. The flashes of red and pure white behind his lids slowly faded away, and he dragged his hands away from his now quiescent cock. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes as tightly closed as he could, ignoring the ache in his chest.

Yes. He had to hate him. There was no other alternative.

XMKX

He was still alive, wasn't he? He'd always considered himself a strong person, not a tough guy, no, not really, but strong. Had to be. Didn't he?

She was sitting next to him, smiling at him, shaking her head.

"Go away! It wasn't my fault! I DIDN'T FIRE!"

Her smile didn't falter even as she faded from sight.

Damn him. Him and his fucking cigarettes. If he hadn't been smoking in the stupid car Mulder never would have ever found out. Not until it was too late. Not until no one else could save him. He knew all his secrets. Used them. In the patchy darkness where the silo lights didn't quite reach, where the shadows bent the light and the fuzziness in his eyes made the shadows move, he saw him. Wreathed in smoke. Pale, cold eyes, staring at him. Laughing at him. Knowing him. Playing him. Use a lie as close to the truth as possible, and eventually it becomes indistinguishable from the truth.

He had never lied to Mulder. He simply hadn't told him the whole truth.

If he had, they would have killed the other man. And his work would have been a failure. His life would have been a failure. They were the same, after all, weren't they? Take care of Mulder.

He could hear his voice. Calling him Alex, in that gentle tone he so seldom used, without the ever-present mockery, untainted by distrust, warm and soothing as aged whiskey.

Then her voice joined the chorus. He had killed her, even if he hadn't pulled the trigger, for hadn't that been his plan? Take Scully out of the picture permanently? Leave the path free for ... what? Aged whiskey and soft kindness. The smoke cleared for a moment, then returned as thickly as ever. The high, thin tones of his superior, the edge of distaste, the frigid clarity of a dead soul in a living body. Overpowering the other voices until they receded, guilt and the lost hope of love buried under hatred and death.

The voices rang in his mind, driving him to an escape he could not find. Frantic to escape them, lost to his own hopelessness, he began to dig at the loosened edge of a metal panel, clawing at the concrete crumbling under his bleeding fingers.

He had been buried alive. Now he had company.

XMKX

He hated him, but he needed him. And he knew where to find him. He just had to do it quickly or there would be nothing left to find, and his most promising hope of bringing the worst of the conspirators to justice would be gone.

The preparations didn't take very long, but Mulder still chafed at the delay. Frohicke had been his usual helpful self, handing him a printout of the duty rotations of the special forces personnel assigned to the silo in Black Crow, North Dakota, including focus areas of special interest where patrols were most highly concentrated and high traffic areas. Langly gifted him with a lovely little grey box with two switches that was guaranteed to detect any movement or audio sensors within a two hundred foot radius, and Byers chipped in with some of the most detailed area maps and Department of Defense schematics Mulder had ever seen.

One intense evening of planning later, Mulder was in a Cessna two seater heading northwest to Grand Forks and Scully was spending her precious free time between a full slate of autopsies trying to find a way to change her email address to avoid incoming poems heavily emphasizing roses and sapphires. The little guy just never gave up.

XMKX

Flashes of memory returned. He couldn't tell if they were real or not. As the hours passed, he couldn't tell if anything was real or not anymore. But a few things felt like they could be.

Mulder's voice. It was here. Screaming that Krycek was here, that he knew he was here. The voice growing fainter. "You can't hide the truth" he thought he heard faintly under the thunder of booted feet and the sounds of his own retching. But the truth was hidden. Because of Him. The smoking bastard. The one who brought him here. The one who left him here. To die.

He knew he had. The small voice that told him he was alive hadn't spoken to him in a long time, so he knew he must be dead. Too bad, really. Mulder had tried to help him. As he had tried to help Mulder. As he would have always tried to help Mulder, even if it hadn't been his assignment.

In the dark, in the pain, two faces crystallized behind his eyelids. One his ally. One his enemy. One he hated. One he loved.

He had never been one for regrets. He lived in the present, couldn't afford not to, there were too many people trying to kill him to let his attention wander. But he did have a few forlorn wishes. One, that he had found some way to convince Fox Mulder that he really did admire him, when he had had the chance. That, given a hint of encouragement, that admiration could have been a hell of a lot more. He hurt for him. And two, that he hadn't been able to kill the Cancerman when he had the opportunity. Now he'd never be able to do either.

Too bad he was dead.

XMKX

Flat land and cows weren't much help with hiding. Mulder drove the rental Honda as sedately as possible, trying his best to give the impression of a tourist meandering the back roads of North Dakota, not a one man rescue team. His luck, and Frohicke's hacking, paid off, and he was able to avoid patrols from Grand Forks all the way to Black Crow. He pulled into the field behind his target silo exactly forty minutes after sundown the third day after being forcibly removed from the scene by the Cancerman's private army.

Motion sensors had been placed every nine feet along the maze of corridors, and audio sensors every fifteen. Langly had tried to explain the workings of his grey box, but Mulder hadn't followed him after the first few minutes of technobabble. He knew when to turn it on, when to turn it off, and if it was working.

It was.

Following Byers' schematics, he took the direct route down the maintenance catwalks until he got to the eighth level underground. Pausing to catch his breath, he listened hard. There shouldn't be anyone here, but he could swear he heard ... scratching? And singing? Someone was singing. And not doing a very good job of it. It sounded like an old Sting tune, sung by someone with a very bad cold and severe asthma.

Well. That answered one question. Krycek was alive.

Completely out of it, from the sound of it, but still breathing, even if barely. And trying to escape.

Mulder eased around the final catwalk, moving a metal access panel and pausing, crouched in the opening, for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he couldn't hold back the gasp.

There it was. The UFO. Barnacles encrusted the bottom of the massive, dark shape, but it was unmistakable. Eyes caught by the sheer size of it, he straightened and stepped into the room, not hearing the beeping of the motion detector alarm on his belt.

Alex Krycek paused in his digging and looked up at the sound of footfalls in his personal hell. Who else had died now? Who was joining him? He blinked, twice, trying to bring blurry eyes into focus, and made out a tall, lanky figure moving toward the hulk of metal as if entranced. Ah. Mulder. Obviously, the Cancerman's thugs had killed him too, and he'd ended up here to keep the UFO company. Although this made perfect sense to him, his body reacted instinctively when he saw the door to his prison fly open and a kevlar armored figure raise his rifle toward Mulder's unprotected back.

Mulder was distracted from his study of the alien craft by a scuffling sound. He dropped his eyes and looked with horror at Krycek. His eyes were wild, sunken into his face, and he was covered with oil and dirt. His hands were torn and bleeding from where he had apparently been digging at the concrete foundation with his fingers. And his lips were drawn back in a feral snarl. Before he could make any move to calm him, the dark figure hurled itself at him. He threw himself to the side and prepared to defend himself, but Krycek went right past him.

Rolling over and staring at the now opened door of the chamber, Mulder watched in open-mouthed shock as Krycek knocked an assault rifle from the hands of a guard Mulder hadn't heard enter. In three sharp movements, Krycek had disarmed him, ripped the helmet from the soldier's head, and broken his neck. The guard died silently. Mulder gulped and pushed himself to his feet, watching Krycek turn, as ready as he could be to defend himself from the madman facing him. To his complete surprise, Krycek didn't attack. Instead, he stood, swaying slightly, with what looked like a smile on his cracked lips. Mulder took a cautious step forward.

"You're safe now," the other man rasped out painfully, then the smile disappeared as his eyes rolled and he lost consciousness. Mulder caught him before he hit the ground.

The stench was nearly overpowering, but Mulder bit down on his reflexive gag and hefted Krycek's boneless form over his shoulder. He shuddered briefly as he passed the guard's sprawled body. He couldn't believe how fast Krycek had killed him. He had less than ten minutes now to get out of here before the second guard came around and the alarm was sounded. Settling his inert burden more securely over his shoulder, he set out at a trot.

He'd take the elevator going back.

XMKX

The drive had been a sedate if nervewrackingly tense one. Less than fifteen minutes outside of Black Crow he had seen frantic activity in the rear view mirror, but by then he had been at the turn off to the maze of dirt roads surrounding Stump Lake. The cabin was precisely where Frohicke had marked, and he pulled into the lea near the cabin and turned to his passenger. Krycek had remained unconscious for the duration of the drive.

Mulder began to take a deep breath, and broke off almost immediately with a grimace as he caught another strong whiff of Krycek. The man needed bathing badly. From the look of him, food would be a really good idea, too. He sighed and made his way to the passenger door, keeping a sharp lookout for any prying eyes in the area. It looked as abandoned as he could have hoped. Pouring Krycek out of the seat and over his shoulder, he carried him inside and dumped him none too gently on the carpet in front of the couch. Two more trips emptied the car of the luggage, bags of food and supplies he had brought along.

He'd known that Krycek would be in bad shape, if he was still alive, and had planned to hide for a day or two in the cabin, both to allow the Consortium's manhunt to spread out a little and to give Krycek some time to regain his strength. He'd use the time to try to work out a bargain with the other man. Information in exchange for his life. If Krycek didn't want to help him and Scully put the Cancerman away, then he would throw the slimy little bastard to the wolves.

Krycek was beginning to stir as Mulder finished putting the rest of the groceries in the pantry. He slammed the cupboard door a little harder than necessary, wanting to alert his disoriented 'guest' to his presence. After seeing what Krycek had done to the guard, he certainly didn't want to startle him. Red rimmed dark eyes, long lashes encrusted with dried oil and salt from his tears, stared mutely at him. He couldn't read the expression they held through the fatigue. He took a long breath and crouched quietly next to Krycek. So far, so good. He hadn't tried to break his neck and escape. That was a good sign.

"Hi," he began quietly. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, as nonthreatening as he could make it. "You okay?" No response. Krycek continued to stare up at him, for all the world like a wounded animal who was too tired to chew his foot out of the trap. "You, uhm, you need a bath. Can you stand up?"

He pursed his lower lip and studied the body lying in front of him, trying to determine the best way to go about getting him clean. A low moan interrupted his train of thought. Startle hazel eyes flew up to clash with forest green, and he found himself holding his breath. Something was not quite right here. Krycek was staring at him as if he had never seen him before.

"Krycek? ... Alex?" He tried again, very gently. Krycek's eyes closed and for a moment an expression of pain tightened his features. Then he forced himself to his elbows and tried to lift himself up. He only got as far as a half sitting position before Mulder leaned forward and wrapped a strong arm around his waist.

"I've got you. Come on, now, into the shower with you." The short walk from the living room to the bathroom took too long for Mulder, not nearly long enough for Krycek. Finally, the two men staggered into the small room. Mulder propped Krycek's battered body on the toilet seat and balanced him with one hand as he flipped the shower controls with the other.

"Can you manage it?" Blank dark eyes staring up at Mulder made him seriously doubt it. He sighed again and leaned his charge up against the wall, carefully balancing him so that he wouldn't slip onto the floor. As steam began to fill the room, Mulder eyed the stall, then studied Krycek. No help for it. He had to do it for him. Stripping quickly and efficiently, he didn't notice the spark of interest that flamed in Krycek's eyes, bringing life back into his features for the first time since he had rescued him. Mulder knelt on the floor in front of Krycek, wrestling with his boots and cursing the dried oil practically gluing the leather to the skin.

Another small moan issued from deep in Krycek's chest. Mulder ignored the sound and tossed the ruined footwear out the door. Gritting his teeth against the smell and the feeling of the oil beneath his hands, he reached up and rolled the soggy sweater off the other man, tossing it into the hallway. He pulled and tugged until the filthy jeans and shorts finally peeled away from the muscled thighs, and they joined the other discards. Mulder ran his hands along Krycek's sides until his palms rested under the smaller man's armpits, then hoisted him bodily into the shower, grumbling steadily under his breath.

Krycek couldn't understand what Mulder was saying, but he could feel the rumble of his voice through his back as he leaned against the taller man's chest. He hadn't realized being dead would be so much fun. He must have done something right along the way or he never would have ended up in a steamy room with a naked Mulder holding him up, gently running a soapy cloth over his skin, rubbing away the pain and the weariness and the filth, making him clean and safe. As the strong fingers began to run through his hair, kneading shampoo into his scalp, he rested his head back against the curve of Mulder's bare shoulder. Yes. He could stay here forever. Being dead had its benefits.

It took three complete cycles with the washcloth and nearly an entire bar of soap before the skin under his fingers began to feel silky again, free of the gritty oil and accumulated filth that had coated Krycek. As the water began to cool, Mulder found himself running his hands in slow circles over the wiry body leaning against him. Krycek had lost weight. He could count his ribs, his collarbone felt almost fragile, and the sharp edge of his pelvic bone seemed near to cutting through the tender skin there. With a start, he realized that he was practically caressing the younger man, standing under the running water, lost in thought.

"Lost, for sure," he muttered to himself. "Losing my damned mind, is what I'm doing." Hurriedly, he twisted the spigot off and wrapped a bath sheet around Krycek. Grabbing another for himself, he quickly tied it around his waist and walked Krycek into the bedroom. Drying him haphazardly, he propped him against the headboard and turned toward the door.

"Don't move. I'm just going to get some dinner." A light snore was the only response. He stopped and glanced at the bed. Krycek had slipped sideways to sprawl against the pillows, sound asleep. "It can wait. You're no good to me until you get some rest." He changed direction and made sure the windows were nailed shut from the outside, a precaution he had pre-arranged with Frohicke. Crossing the room and closing the door quietly behind him, he locked it and pocketed the key. He wasn't taking any chances on Krycek deciding to leave before he was ready.

He busied himself with the task of opening cans and warming up dinner. As he was finishing up, he heard a slight noise from behind the bedroom door and took a deep breath. Show time. He gathered up the soup and hot chocolate he had laid on a tray and reached for his keys. Listening for a moment before turning the lock, he slowly nudged the door open with his foot. Krycek was sitting up in bed with a vague look on his face, head turning slowly from side to side.

"Looking for something?" Mulder asked suspiciously as he crossed the room and placed the tray on the bedside table.

"My, uhm, my pants?" Krycek sounded far away, and not quite sure of himself.

"Burned 'em," Mulder lied. "You're stuck here for now, so you might as well enjoy it." He pointed at the food. "Eat up."

Krycek's eyes lit up at the sight of the tray, and he reached unsteadily for the mug of soup. His fingers trembled, and he nearly knocked it to the floor. Mulder sighed. "Here. Let me help you or you're going to end up wearing more than you eat." Krycek subsided meekly, and Mulder cast him another suspicious stare. He must really be wiped to be so submissive.

He settled himself along the edge of the mattress, his thigh resting against the outside of Krycek's, and lifted the mug, placing it carefully to the other man's mouth. Krycek lifted one shaky hand to cover Mulder's and drank deeply, closing his eyes in apparent bliss as the liquid ran down his throat. Mulder found himself staring, caught by the sheer sensuality of his enjoyment. When Krycek's eyes drifted open, they locked with Mulder's, and neither broke the glance, until Mulder pulled away suddenly, almost spilling the soup himself.

"I think you can handle it from here," he growled, and retreated to the armchair at the side of the bed. Krycek cradled the mug in both hands and continued to sip, his eyes following Mulder's every movement.

"Why did you come for me?" he asked quietly. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he considered the question.

"Because I need you," he answered honestly.

"I don't have the digital tape anymore. I ... for some reason I gave it to the Cancerman." He grimaced in disgust at his own actions, then shook his head slightly and continued. "So, what do you need me for?"

"To testify." At Krycek's disbelieving stare, he bit his lip and carried on. "We had Cardinale in custody. They got to him. We'd keep you in personal protective custody and make sure you made it to the trial in one piece."

"What could they do to me?" Mulder didn't believe his ears. Surely that innocent tone and naive question hadn't come from Krycek. He ignored it, deciding the rogue agent was yanking his chain.

"You're the key to bringing them down. That is the only reason why I haven't killed you outright for murdering my father."

Calm dark eyes bore into his, and Mulder read utter sincerity in them. "I didn't kill your father."

"Then who did?" he snarled, sorely tempted to shoot the lying little bastard.

"He killed himself."

Mulder froze. For a moment the world contracted to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Images played in front of his eyes, shimmering through the drugs he had been on at the time, but details his trained eye had catalogued unconsciously. The placement of the entry wound. The expression on his face. The spilled pills. The angle of trajectory that the bullet would have had to take to come from the bath tub. The angle of the exit wound. The burns on his skin.

Fuck.

The little shit was telling the truth.

He swallowed, hard. "Why were you there, then?" His voice was shakier than he would have liked. Krycek didn't seem to notice.

"To protect you." He really seemed to believe it, too.

"From what?" Angry, incredulous words. "My father?"

"Yes. Keep him from hurting you, with the truth." Krycek's voice was slow and dreamy, and he stared fixedly at Mulder. "You keep looking for it. And it will only hurt you. Have to keep you from being hurt. Have to protect you. Well, had to. Too late now."

"Too late for what? What do you mean, protect me from the truth?" Mulder was completely confused. Krycek wasn't making any sense at all. He had been sent to hobble him, to block his work, not help him.

"If you got too close they would kill you. I had to make sure they didn't kill you. That was my assignment, keep you from the truth and keep you alive. But I can't do that, can I? 'Cause I'm dead now, so I can't protect you any more."

Mulder felt his jaw drop. Dead? He thought he was dead? "Mm-hm. Alex? You're not dead." Insane, yes, but not dead. He kept the last thought to himself.

"Of course I am, Mulder. Otherwise why would you be here? Why would you be caring for me? Feeding me? Cleaning me? Holding me?" The words grew gradually softer until the last phrase was a bare whisper. Mulder found himself leaning forward to hear as the tone fell, until he found himself almost completely out of the chair, less than a foot from Krycek's intent face. Sitting back abruptly, he scrabbled at his waistband until he found his handcuffs. Taking the mug from Krycek's relaxed grip, he placed it within reach on the table and firmly clipped Krycek's right wrist to the headboard.

"Sleep tight, Krycek. See you in the morning." Maybe then you'll be back in the land of the living, he added under his breath, and shut the door on those dark, somber eyes.

Bedding down on the sofa, Mulder stared into the darkness for a very long time before sleep finally claimed him. Even when he did sleep, the images wouldn't stop tormenting him. He saw his father, Krycek, the Cancerman, Sam, Scully, Skinner, even Melissa, calling out to him, taunting him, and pleading with him. So many losses. So many lies.

Krycek found himself staring at the ceiling. Something wasn't quite right here. If he was dead, why did his wrist hurt? And why did he feel so energized? Weren't ghosts supposed to be transparent and droopy? Acting instinctively as his mind worked on the puzzle, his left hand dug at the edge of the tray until he had worked a section of wire loose from the decorative trim. Bending it and wiggling it in the lock, he listened for the click. His patience was finally rewarded by the loosening of the cuff around his wrist, and he slipped his hand free and sat up in the bed, folding his arms around his knees and resting his chin on his fists. Well. Looked like he might not be dead after all. Now, what should he do about it?

His options were limited. The Cancerman had too many resources, and he had lost his insurance when he lost control of the digital tape. He had no money, no allies, and damned near omnipotent enemies. He stared at the door. He could run, and they would find him, and he would be a dead man. Or he could stay, help Mulder, and they would find him, and he would be a dead man. Any way he looked at it, he was dead.

So he might as well enjoy it.

Carefully picking the other cuff lock, he gathered up the handcuffs and padded, naked, to the door. The handle of the spoon worked quite well as a lever to get the plate of the door handle pried up, and extended inward, with a little judicious jiggling, flipped the lock handily. Easing it open, he stepped lightly to the side of the sofa, and let his eyes roam freely over his prey.

Mulder lay tangled in a sheet, deep in a nightmare, sweat beading his forehead and cheeks, chewing on his full lower lip as he mumbled something incoherent. His tee shirt was twisted from his contortions, and the material rode up so that Krycek could see a light dusting of hair and one dark pink nipple. He licked his lips and studied the possibilities of the couch. As he watched, Mulder lifted his right arm and flung it over his head, as if he was pushing something, or someone, away from him. That made it simpler.

Quietly as a cat, Krycek slipped a cuff over the relaxed wrist, then ran the chain through the oak crossbar on the back side of the couch. Before Mulder could wake enough to realize what was happening, Krycek grabbed his left wrist and wrenched it upward, clasping the other cuff around it and squeezing it shut. Mulder was well and truly caught.

He came fully awake with a low growl, lashing out with his feet and trying to kick at Krycek. Alex stepped behind the arm of the sofa, out of range, and pushed down firmly on Mulder's chest. He then calmly yanked the sheet away from Mulder's legs and began to tear it into uneven strips. Wide, frightened, angry eyes, glinting with green highlights, glared impotently at him, upside-down to him in his secure position. When Krycek made no further move toward him, Mulder subsided, panting heavily.

"How the fuck did you get out?" he rasped.

"Carefully," Krycek grinned down at him. "Hush now." He took one of the strips of linen and gagged Mulder, taking care not to hurt him or restrict his breathing. Then, dodging further frustrated kicks, he tied Mulder's ankles loosely but firmly to the opposing crossbar. Mulder could spread his feet almost eighteen inches apart, but couldn't turn, or kick, or escape. It would do. Krycek stared down at his captive and took a deep breath. Maybe being dead had its advantages. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to. And he had wanted to do this for a very long time. Pushing the tee shirt all the way up and over Mulder's head, he bunched it around his wrists, cushioning them so that Mulder wouldn't hurt himself on the hard wood of the sofa arm. Then he efficiently peeled his shorts down his legs, leaving them gathered loosely around his feet. He stared at the long, nude form of his erstwhile partner and felt his pulse pick up, and his throat begin to dry. Mulder was beautiful.

He began by slowly running his hands up the length of Mulder's legs, testing the long, lean muscles with his fingertips, lightly feathering his fingertips over the tendons in his ankles, the curve of his calves, playing in the hollows of his knees. Mulder was barely breathing now, staring at him in fascinated horror. Krycek skimmed the bunched muscles of his thighs, then dipped his caressing hands to the softness of his buttocks, a touch he'd been hungry for since the first time he had seen Mulder in swim trunks. The muscles tensed under his hands, the cheeks drawing in, trying to escape his touch.

He smiled, and curved his arms around the slender waist, fingertips meeting in the small of his back. Mulder was making small, distressed sounds through the gag, and Krycek lowered his head to the agent's stomach, kissing the soft skin lightly. He flicked his tongue out to follow the scant trail of hair up the center of his chest, hands coming back around to trace the line of his ribs. His wandering lips found the raised softness of a nipple, and he paused to lap at it, nibbling lightly, then sucking the small nub of flesh until it had puckered into a tiny pebble under his teeth. He laughed deep in his throat, listening to the sounds from behind the gag mutate, soften, the muscles in Mulder's throat working to ease the sudden tension.

His hand rose to torment the other nipple as his mouth continued its upward ascent, nipping lightly at the straining tendons at the sides of his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, laving it with his tongue. He could feel Mulder's pulse, feel it accelerating, with fear or arousal he didn't know, and at this point, didn't care. His erection was getting insistent, pushing into Mulder's groin, and he knew he'd have to pick up the pace. He had wanted this too long to take it with the slow care he wanted to use, but they had all night. Mulder wasn't going anywhere, and he sure as hell wasn't leaving.

He continued his journey, the kisses rougher now, open mouthed, more teeth, a more frantic tongue. He pulled at Mulder's earlobe with his teeth, then soothed the small hurt with a quick swipe of his tongue. His fingers had found Mulder's cock, which was responding of its own accord to the sensual stimulation of Krycek's hands and mouth. As he buried his face in the warm curve of Mulder's neck, his right hand encircled Mulder's burgeoning erection and began to stroke it firmly, pulling at the shaft, palming the head. One knee slid between Mulder's legs and forced them slightly apart, and his left hand insinuated itself between his thighs, cupping his sac and rolling his balls lightly from side to side. He alternated manipulating the sac with running a finger lightly over the perineum from sac to anus, feeling the tender skin flinch involuntarily, enjoying the instinctive way the balls crept up under his touch. Mulder quickly became erect under the double assault, his hips arching off the soft cushions of the couch. A low moaning was coming from him now, a mixture of denial and arousal and anger and helplessness.

He was so close now. Dropping his other leg to the side of his captive's hip, he laid his erection alongside Mulder's and caught both straining cocks with his hands. Pushing the hard muscle of his thigh rhythmically into the base of Mulder's cock, he milked their cocks together, the slick flesh sliding, pressing against one another, balls slapping against each other, building the pressure until his hands were a blur over their flesh. Mulder was bucking underneath him now, as desperate as he to reach climax, writhing under the hands driving him on, the wet, hot cock rubbing hard against him. With a muffled scream Mulder began to convulse, and the creamy liquid spraying over his hands was the final push Krycek needed to go over the edge. With a long moan his own spasms joined Mulder's, and he ground his hips into the other man's, wringing them both dry with his fists.

Krycek collapsed onto Mulder's trembling body, panting hard, his hoarse breathing matching Mulder's own. For the first time he noticed the tracks of tears running from the corners of Mulder's eyes, disappearing into the ruffled hair at his temples. He leaned forward and licked at the salty trails, ignoring Mulder's attempt to back away. Smoothing the dark, sweat-soaked hair back from Mulder's forehead, he shifted on the couch until he could lie comfortably, curled up against the agent's chest.

"I guess we need to talk."

A muffled grunt was his only response. Lifting his head to study the gagged mouth, dazed eyes and overall incredulous expression, he allowed himself a small smirk.

"Okay. I'll talk. You can listen." He began to trace idle patterns in the soft skin under his hand, watching with interest as a trail of goosebumps followed his fingertips. "You never knew it, but I was telling the truth. I really did -- do admire the way you work. Not the work itself, but your methods. You're smart. Probably the smartest man I've ever heard of. Definitely the smartest I've ever met. And you're determined. And you're ... passionate." His voice lowered, eyes getting a faraway look in them. "What I wouldn't have given to've been able to change that passion's focus." He suddenly splayed his fingers wide, spanning the pectoral muscles and pressing lightly. Mulder jerked slightly, but stayed still, the harsh cadence of his breathing his only sound. "You are so good at finding the truth, your precious truth, and you never had a clue." He raised himself on the hand resting on Mulder's chest and stared hard into uncomprehending green- flecked eyes. "You still don't." Dipping his head, he ran the tip of his tongue over the full lower lip edging the bottom of the makeshift gag. Drawing back to admire the sheen of moisture now coating it, he smiled down at the other man. "I love you."

Mulder bucked, complete denial in every quivering muscle as he tried to knock Krycek off of him. Without missing a beat, his tormentor backhanded him, effectively stunning him and forcing him to listen to the rest of his words. "My assignment was to keep you alive and to keep you in the dark. And I did a damned fine job at it, too. Y'know why? Because I wanted you both alive and in the dark. Not for their reasons ... for mine." He thrust one hand through the thick, short hair at the back of Mulder's skull and clenched his fist, pulling his head back and forcing the weakly struggling agent to face him. "You were my hero at the Academy. When I got this chance I jumped at it. Hoover's history aside, the FBI isn't exactly tolerant of gays. And I had the hots for you for months before I even met you. Then, when I had the chance," he lowered his head and began to nibble his way along Mulder's jaw, stopping at his ear to whisper fiercely, "at you, I jumped for it." He licked delicately around the shell of the ear, then dipped his tongue in. Mulder squirmed, and he drew back, blowing lightly over the wet skin. A strangled whimper worked its way from behind the gag. "Because I wanted you. And after watching you, studying you, working with you, hurting with you, I found out I loved you, too."

Another muffled sound, and a slight negative shake of his head, all Krycek's tight grip would allow.

"Oh, yeah, I did. But there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it. Once they get their claws in you ya might as well give it up, because you never shake them loose. I tried. I didn't kill your father, like they wanted me to. I held my fire when Cardinale killed Scully's sister. I even held on to the digital tape instead of handing it over right away. So they blew up the car I was sitting in." Mulder went completely still, staring at Krycek, an inquiring look on his face. "I figured it out from the way the others were acting, and the clock on the dash. Got out right before it blew and started to run. And you wanna know why they were going to kill me?" A raised brow answered him, and he loosened his fingers, gently combing through the hair, settling it back in place. "Not for fucking up, not really. Not for losing my commitment, 'cause I never had any in the first place. Not to them. But because I'd proven that my need to protect you was stronger than my fear of them. Hell, even in Hong Kong when the French bastards were after my contact, I got you on the right side of the door to buy you some time before I escaped."

He drew a deep breath and slid his other hand up behind Mulder's neck. Slipping the knot that held the gag, he dipped his head again and caught Mulder's mouth in an open kiss, capturing his jaw with one hand and holding him still. Somewhat to his surprise, Mulder didn't try to bite him. He didn't kiss him back, but he did accept the invasion of Krycek's tongue.

Alex put his soul into the kiss, trying to prove himself with the heat in his lips and hands and body. Only when he finally needed to gasp for air did he draw back. Panting lightly, he stared at Mulder's face, waiting for a response, any response. The one he got made him close his eyes in frustration.

"You are out of your fucking mind."

Krycek took a deep breath and glared at Mulder. Stubborn son of a bitch.

"First you're convinced that you're dead, then that you're some kind of goddamned Galahad, and now you're in love with me?!" Mulder's voice had gradually gained strength until he was practically screaming at the man draped on top of him. Krycek winced, and sighed. He placed his fingers over Mulder's mouth, and when the larger man tried to shake them off, he curved his free hand around his throat. The agent heeded the implied warning and quieted down.

"I am dead, Mulder. However this works out, I'm dead. I help you, they kill me. I run, they kill me. No way to go that they won't kill me." His voice softened and he traced the full lips under his hand tenderly. "So, yeah, I'm dead. May be time-delayed, but it's gonna happen. As for the protection ... the Cancerman wants you alive for some reason, and I haven't the faintest what it is. But I do too, so it worked out. And yeah." He shifted slightly, and thrust his hardening cock into Mulder's stomach, enjoying the widening of his eyes, the expansion of his pupils, the instinctive movement of his pelvis as Mulder reacted to his advance. "I am in love with you. And before I unlock those cuffs, you're going to know it."

Cupping the other man's jaw with both hands, he kissed him again. Mulder tried to keep his lips firm against the determined assault, but he was fighting a losing battle. Krycek worked at his lips with his tongue until, with a slight moan, Mulder gave up and accepted his entry. As he deepened the kiss, his hands slipped from around Mulder's neck, trailing fire down his chest, across his abdomen, to the thick curls at the apex of his thighs and the hard flesh there. One hand held Mulder's cock steady, barely pumping, encouraging his arousal, while the other hand concentrated on the head, teasing at the droplet of fluid at the slit, spreading it around the crown with his fingertips. Krycek finally broke the kiss and gave that delicious bottom lip one more affectionate suck before slithering slowly down Mulder's body to replace his hand with his mouth.

Mulder gasped aloud at the first contact of hot, wet mouth on his erection. His hips thrust upward in spite of himself, and he closed his eyes at the triumphant grin surrounding his flesh. Krycek began to pump his shaft firmly, sucking on his cockhead with alternating soft and strong rhythm, not so slowly driving Mulder out of his mind. When he pulled back and stilled his hands on Mulder's flesh the agent was unable to stifle a broken plea for him to continue. The sudden dip of the mattress on each side of his hips caused his eyes to fly open, and he stared as Krycek, his face flushed with want, his mouth wet with a combination of saliva and semen, knelt above him. The compactly muscled body hovering above him sent an arrow of pure lust running from his dry throat straight to his groin, and his cock jumped, bouncing lightly against Krycek's ass. He didn't have long to wait.

Krycek reached behind him and grasped his erection at the base, holding him still. Using his other hand to spread his asscheeks, he very slowly placed the head of Mulder's cock at the tight entrance to his rectum. Mulder watched with his heart caught in his throat as Krycek took a deep, relaxing breath and pushed the head into his anus, throwing his head back as the bulbous tip slipped through the ring of muscle. He froze there, allowing his body to adapt to the invasion, and giving Mulder a chance to get used to the new pressure on his sensitive cockhead. The silence in the room, broken until then only by the combined harshness of their breath, was filled with a low, grumbling moan as Krycek released the tensed muscles in his thighs and sank fully, slowly, on Mulder's erection. Coming to rest on his bent knees, Mulder buried to the hilt in his body, the hot soft roundness of Mulder's sac against the stretched skin at the base of his anus, his own balls pressed tightly into the cradle of Mulder's pelvis, his cock twitching against the warmth of Mulder's belly, Krycek took another deep breath and very nearly came. This was a wet dream come to life.

Bending over slowly, he brushed Mulder's open mouth with his own, then straightened and began to rock with mind-numbing care a mere two inches up before sinking down again, angling the entry so that the tensile muscle rubbed insistently at his prostate with every stroke. Mulder's hands were clenching spasmodically in the manacles that held him, his breathing coming in gasping sobs, sweat shimmering on his skin. Krycek balanced himself with one hand on Mulder's thigh behind him, the other creating a matching rhythm on his own rampant erection, in concert with his rocking movements. The combination of Mulder's vulnerability, his own control, and the incredible sensations radiating from impaling himself on Mulder's cock were too much, and he shuddered as he came, grinding himself in a circular motion onto Mulder, pumping his cock hard and splattering semen across Mulder's chest. The entrapped agent felt the hot splashes on his skin and the strong squeezing on his cock, deep in Krycek's body. He couldn't hold it and climaxed himself, shouting hoarsely as he felt himself milked with each contraction.

Krycek folded slowly over, Mulder's softening cock slipping out of his ass with a wet, soft sound. He curled his hands under Mulder's armpits, curving his fingers into the strong shoulders, burying his face in the scented curve of the larger man's collarbone. He sighed deeply.

"Yeah." It was a statement, but Krycek wasn't sure of what. He waited silently, listening to the thumping heart under his cheek slowly settling into a normal rhythm. His patience was eventually rewarded.

"I can't think of any other reason why you would do that to -- with -- why you'd ... oh, hell."

He couldn't hold back the grin, although he managed to stifle the chuckle threatening to break free. "So eloquent, Mulder." He raised his head and saw the strangest expression on the strong-boned face. It looked like a combination of satiation, confusion, understanding, lust, and acceptance. Not the disgust he feared, or the hatred he was used to seeing. His grin softened into a genuine smile.

Mulder twisted uncomfortably in his bonds. "My hands are dead, Krycek. You wanna unlock these things?"

"Are you going to run away?" Krycek asked seriously. Mulder stared back at him equally as seriously.

"No. Despite what's, uhm, happened here," Alex watched with fascination as a deep blush spread from Mulder's chest along his throat and washed over his cheekbones. "I still need you and you, well, you haven't really got any better offers." I hate you, he thought with quiet desperation. Don't I?

As Krycek opened his mouth to answer, the cumulation of months on the run, alien inhabitation, imprisonment with no nourishment and body draining sex caught up with him and he yawned hugely. Mulder looked taken aback for a moment, then had to grin. "Hey, Alex, unlock me before you pass out." Krycek nodded, eyes falling closed, and scrabbled in Mulder's jeans pocket for the small ring. He fumbled with the key and barely waited for the snick of unlocking metal before giving in to his fatigue.

Mulder stared at the tousled head resting on his chest and shifted on the couch, settling the smaller man's weight more comfortably against him. Bringing his arms down and rubbing his wrists painfully, he found himself embracing Krycek. Shrugging internally over the bizarre circumstances in which he found himself, he rested his arms around the warm back and nestled his chin against the dark curls. His eyes closed as his own exhaustion overtook him.

XMKX

Krycek woke to a bright shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains, highlighting the peaceful features of Fox Mulder. His former and, it seemed, future partner looked completely relaxed for the first time since he had met him. As he lay quietly in the loose embrace, he took a deep, cleansing breath and realized for the first time in what felt like years that he felt truly alive. Watching Mulder through his lashes, waiting for the other man to awaken, he knew what his next step would be. Time to quit running. Time to fight, and time to take sides. This man's side. A feral smile curved his lips as he thought of his, and Mulder's, enemy. It was time for justice, and time for vengeance.

Sometimes when they buried the dead alive, the dead don't stay buried.

end


End file.
